


Five Cubits South of the Boiling Stars

by slyfoxcub



Series: Constellations [4]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: A Disturbing Monkey, A Library, Babies, Blood Drinking, Contrived Lore Explanations, Creation of Custodes, Custodes Have Feelings, Gen, Kitten(TTS) Cameo, Mistaken Constantin/Emperor, Misunderstandings, Scandalised!Constantin, Slice of Life, Venatari Need Love, Worldbuilding, artwork included, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24545449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyfoxcub/pseuds/slyfoxcub
Summary: In the hopeful twilight of the far future, there is only a dysfunctional collection of super-soldiers, cyborgs and tiny children.A collection of snippets, spanning from Ra's recruitment in One Mile West of the Bleeding Sun to Horus' discovery in Rise Up To Meet It, in no particular order.
Relationships: Adeptus Custodes Ensemble & Constantin Valdor, Emperor of Mankind & Constantine Valdor
Series: Constellations [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549192
Comments: 18
Kudos: 78





	1. Everyone's A Critic

**Author's Note:**

> Slight squick for graphically mistaken Constantin/Emps.

_Ribcage heaving, the Custodes General knelt on the floor, the sweat-shined muscles of his back and shoulders gleaming in the lamplight. Every sense was heightened by the blindfold tied securely over his eyes, and the lust and adrenaline pumping through his veins, so the softest sound of his liege-lord kneeling down beside him was deafening._

_Skin slid over skin, and the sensation of hot breath on the nape of his neck and a soft kiss behind his ear tore a whimper from the usually unexpressive General. No-one else could do this to him, not that he would ever let them try. His body belonged to his Emperor alone, and he gladly gave it whenever he was asked. He would go so far as to say that he craved his lord’s touch, the mere thought of it stirring his body back into wakefulness._

“Oh. My. Stars.” Constantine could only state in disgust and despair, tearing his eyes away from the data-slate. “What...How...I…’”

Ra leaned over and quickly scanned the text. “Oh trust me, it gets...more intense...from there. And that’s one of the lighter ones.”

“Wait...you’ve read this?!” Constantine asked, aghast.

“Yes. I just thought that you might like to take it in for yourself, considering that it _concerns_ you, after all. Compared to the others, it’s rather well-written.”

Constantine’s stomach abruptly plummeted. “Others?”

“Nearly a hundred of them. Some are...actually nauseating.”

“You mean besides the fact that the very concept is hideous and impossible?!” The data-slate creaked threateningly in Constantine’s armoured grip.

“Some are about the Sisters of Silence, but yes, most of them feature Custodes. Specifically you. And I don’t think the general populous actually know that we can’t...you know. Then again, there was an awful lot of incorrect biology in the Sister-centric ones, so that might just be an overarching theme.”

Constantine delicately placed the data-slate on the table, to prevent himself from destroying it. “Why. Me.” He spat out.

Ra rolled his eyes. “Because it’s transparently clear to anyone with half a brain that our lord treats you differently than the rest of us. You might be Captain-General but even then, you’re more to him than a bodyguard. Add the fact that he has so far not made any advances on anyone at all and people start making dubious connections. The loyalty aspect of our role is also apparently sexually appealing.”

He was just glad that his gauntlets hid his shaking hands. “He’s practically my father over anything else; my Procedure went wrong, being the prototype, and I’m more akin to the Primarchs than the rest of you.”

“...Never mention that, incest is sexually appealing as well.”

He fought the urge to scream aloud; it was a hard-won battle. “I. Hate. Eidetic. Memory.” He’d remember that...passage of writing for as long as he lived. He missed three minutes ago, when he didn’t know this existed.

Off to the side, Amon let out a strangled sound of horror and threw his own dataslate across the room. It shattered against the wall. 

"Sorry." Came a mutter a few seconds later. "I just...no. No, not thinking about it. Ra, sir, I hate you now. And I can't even forget it."

"Oh, is that the one with the chains and-"

"Yes."

"Did you get to the bit about-"

"YES." Amon interrupted forcefully. "Where did you even find this...this filth! Who writes this?"

Constantine took renewed interest. "A very valid point, Amon. Ra, where did you get these?"

Awkward silence.

Into which strolled Lavinius, the off-duty Custodes clad only in loose robes and bearing a large mug of tea and a pile of data-slates. “Captain-General sir, I thought you might want to... what's this all about?"

In lieu of a verbal response, Constantine passed over the incriminating text, which was swiftly skimmed through with ever raising eyebrows. "Oh my."

"We were just about to ask Ra from where he procured these files," Amon said, with no small amount of glee. Ra himself was looking like he'd rather be on the other end of the Segmentum.

"Why bother?" Lavinius asked. "We're all trained in counter-intelligence and we all have better uses of our time. And the authors will have gone to great pains to cover their tracks. Just ask the Hekatonkheire for a tracker-wyrm for the Palace Noospheres."

"You are _wasted_ as Master of the Fleet," Constantine said emphatically.

Lavinius shrugged. "As our Lord wills it, it shall be. I am curious though; what do you intend to do to the perpetrators once you have caught them?”

Constantine muttered something that sounded like ‘throwing them in the Vault for the techno-abominations’, as he stood up and grabbed his Spear. “Ra, come with me.”

Taking a long draught of his tea, Lavinius merely nodded. “Hm. Understood. I’ll reschedule my report for later, then?”

Once Constantine had stormed out, dragging Ra with him, Amon turned to the imperturbable Master of the Fleet. “It’s disgusting, don’t you think? How can you stand to keep a straight face around that... _vile filth_?!” 

“The portrayal was quite heinous, I agree, though I must remind you that it was merely speculative. A work of fiction.” He paused, and glanced up at the ceiling as he thought of the best way to word the next piece of information.  
“As for myself...I was quite surprised to learn, via accident, that members of the Mechanicum tend to indulge their baser desires from time to time. The mechadendrites and other components, though...make it rather unnerving.”

Pursing his lips at the resurfacing of the unwanted memory, Lavinius took another sip of tea and reconciled himself with the fact that tech-priests regularly cleansed themselves as often as the technology they tended to.

  
  



	2. Eagles in the Eyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Venatari POV

Status ping pulling him from his slumber, Mesuya Khuri shook his head to clear the last vestiges of slumber from his mind. The movement dislodged a flurry of snow from his helmet and he picked up a chuckle over the vox as his squadmates watched him from their positions. 

His helmet’s sensorium-gheists trilled an alert and, with well-practiced ease, he twisted himself to one side.

With a whine of reverse thrusters and the whoomph of inertia dampeners, Eutychius Luqa landed where Mesuya had been but a moment before.   
In deference to the now crowded ledge, Eutychius shut off his Pinions and altered their angle as much as he was able. Now with slightly more freedom of movement, he turned to where Mesuya was crouched and smiled; eyes crinkling in place of a covered mouth. “Have a nice sleep, snowbird?”

Huffing, Mesuya brushed the layer of fine white powder from his pauldrons. Some still stuck to the inlays and his loincloth and breeches, but that would melt as soon as he got inside. “Yes, very peaceful. Then some impetuous harpy tried to pounce on me.”

“Oh, how rude.”

“I was talking about you, you neurologically-atrophied pigeon.” Mesuya stood and revved his own Auramite Pinions, hefting his Buckler and Lance.

Eutychius tsked. “Such temper, from one of the Golden Legion.”

Then the vox chimed into life. “Enough, you two. Get up here, it’s time for handover.”

“Copy, Janus,” Mesuya replied, and stepped over the edge into the abyss.

For that single, precious moment of freefall, he is a dust mote on the wind, a hapless insect subsumed by gravity. Flayed bare by unforgiving physics and hurtling toward the sharp and wicked crenellations below.

Then he nudged the tiny crystalline Potentia Coil into life and felt it shudder. Velocity clawed at his sternum, unwilling to forsake him, but the winner was already decided.

His intakes gulped down the sky and he blazed upwards, golden feathers shredding the clouds.

The pack itself was connected to his Black Carapace, yes, so it was as much a second pair of limbs as possible, but reading the gales and air pressure, knowing how the air streams would curve around the spires and walkways just so...that was all him.

That was what it meant to be Venatari.

It was this natural aptitude that had allowed him to evade a full pursuit for half an hour during the last Blood Games, and seen him join the Venatari as a full member, not merely a Custodian with training in use of the Pinions.

But this was not true flight, and he had taken to the air for a reason. His momentum arcing, he made minute alterations to his thrusters as easily as if they were muscles in his arms and landed with only a soft crunch of snow next to the third member of his patrol.

A few seconds later, Eutychius thumped down next to him; heavy on his feet, as always.

“Adrenaline-addict,” Janus scoffed light-heartedly. “This is why the Mechanicum and the Hekatonkheire hate you, Mesuya. Stop straining your wings with manoeuvres like that!”

Mesuya didn’t laugh, but couldn’t hide the lightness in his lungs. “Maybe it’ll convince them to finally start upgrading things, eh?”

Another three figures landed on the parapet. “If it was that easy, we’d be tossing you off the rooftops every hour on the hour!” Laughed Yusuf Khaldun. “Reporting in for handover, Damascenus.”

Janus Damascenus growled at the other patrol leader. “I’d be more than happy to throw you off the roof, you damned  _ morning person _ ,” he spat. “The North-West Route 3 is yours for the next six days, Khaldun, Avicenna, Averroes. Stop annoying the Sagittarum and try not to terrify any unwitting mortals."

"We can only try and keep him in line," Avicenna promised, and the three of them hurtled away with a roar of turbines.

"Bastards," Eutychius muttered, after checking that his vox was off the open channel.

Mesuya gently bumped his pauldron in reproval. "Bastards who are good at what they do. Avicenna and Averroes caught me in the Blood Games."

“They caught you only because you had your head in the clouds, Mesuya,” Eutychius grinned, bumping him back. “Admit it; you love flying too much to pay attention to anything else.”

The thinly-veiled barb cut deep. Mesuya flicked his gaze to Janus in search of some unspoken clue, but found only a sharp, heavy interest in eyes that were focused and half-lidded like a hunting hawk.

“I love flying,” he admitted. “You know I do. But I fly for a reason, a purpose; do not mistake that.” He tensed his shoulders and, behind his helmet, his lip curled in a disparaging snarl. How dare they cast aspersions upon his loyalty, his purpose!

“Anyone who doubts my dedication can meet me in the sparring ring, no matter who they are!”

His righteous anger was interrupted by the butt of a Lance thwacking him on one of his Pinion intakes. “Cut that out, no one’s saying that!” Janus barked. “We’re just saying that you get caught up in the thrill, that’s all.”

“Agreed, you need to loosen up a bit, brother,” Eutychius admonished. “You love flying; so what of it? It’s nothing wrong and it’s what makes you a great Venatari. You’ve already proved twice over that you belong with us. You have our respect, Mesuya, but we ask you for trust now.”

He stopped. He considered his actions of late. Ah; he wasn’t merely taking satisfaction in his abilities, but revelling in them. Such a thing was unbecoming and unsuitable; he would meditate upon this flaw and seek to mitigate it. As for trust…?

Well, what was hubris, compared to the certainty of life? The Captain-General had spoken once: ‘Dignity is a weapon, not armour. If you are anxious that your pride may suffer, how will you continue to subject your fear to your will? Do not become too proud, or you shall become slaves to hubris. Strength is surety of yourself and your purpose.’

He was Mesuya Khuri, Venatari of the Legio Custodes. He knew himself and his purpose. He trusted his brothers. They were there to safeguard his soul, and he theirs, for that was their brotherhood.

“You have it,” he acquiesced. Then added, to show he was not offended, “as long as you don’t stop me from flying.”

It was Janus’ turn to laugh. “It would be foolish to deprive our Lord of one of his fiercest Hunting Eagles. Now come; we are no longer needed here and if we dawdle any longer the Armoury Thralls will send out a hunting party.” With a bound, he leapt up from the parapet and Mesuya and Eutychius followed.

The three of them swept upwards, forming into a perfect triad as they pushed off ledges to regain charge and momentum, creating the illusion of an ascent in true flight. As they approached their destination, an auspex confirmed their idents and their own armours chimed a greeting.

The proper name was supposed to be Respondet Ostium Receptionem. But, once the epithet of Hunting Eagles had stuck, the deployment areas had acquired the name of Eyries.

Most of the Venatari blamed Tribune Ra for the enthusiasm of the name change.

The bulkheads reared open at their approach as the three members of Patrol Janus landed upon the pad, and slammed resoundingly behind them. There was a short open area shrouded in darkness, then a narrow walkway dropped down below them. It connected to other, numerous gantries and platforms, that lead in turn to other darkened deploying chambers. And there were many recessed into the ceilings of the Imperial Palace.

It was a mildly alarming, for a transhuman, drop to the floor below. But some of the drops on the outside of the Palace could be in excess of a kilometre; without taking into account the assured multiple impacts from unruly architecture on the way down. Compared to that, this was practically cosy for a Venatari. 

Also, Venatari do not require the provided elevating platforms.

Three pairs of boots hit the floor with barely a sound. Barely, because Eutychius was still the heavier-footed of them.

Six straight days of patrol were over, and the Armoury Thralls and Tech-Priests swarmed them like angry flies. The Pinions were reverently removed, to be checked, maintenanced and sanctified.

It is not the weight change that bothers Mesuya, the Pinions are light and energy-efficient for their size and he has performed greater feats while burdened with greater weight.   
It was the connection with the Black Carapace; such precision and agility necessitated a deep connection. Straight into one of the spinal ports.

The aftereffect was the brief nausea of a phantom limb as the jump-pack was lifted away, and the sudden overbearing dominance of gravity in everything, before proprioception resettled and Mesuya was once again chained to the ground.

He shook it off, as he had shaken his sleep earlier, and began to personally tend to his legs and feet. Underneath the breeches, shin-guards and knee-high boots were braces of servo-muscles. Plating curved around the tendons and arteries, and covered the toes and soles.

A stripped-down version of what was beneath the normal Custodian plate, with the benefit of having space for extra fibres and shock-absorbent down the lower legs.

All of the speed and safety with none of the weight, in exchange for a lack of protection. An added bonus of greater leg strength; a kick that never unbalanced and could crack rockcrete was an advantage in a spar.

As Eutychius wandered off to enquire about an apparent fault in one of his Pinion thrusters, and Janus left for the debrief, Mesuya was left much to his own devices.

He busied himself in the gentle monotony of checking and rechecking the integrity of the fibre-bundles, tightening here, loosening there, flexing the individual groups and then a few groups together.    
After this, he’d grab some real food to eat, then a nice and steady nine-hour training session, and finally finish cross-referencing that physics thesis he’d been reading, and a couple of hours of sleep in his own bed.

Then the pleasant plans he’d been formulating for his Rest Day were shattered as Janus stormed back into the hall, scattering servitors and mechadendrites as he came. “We’re being deployed. Off-planet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that jump-packs run on promethium and/or a backup charge from the Power Armour, but Venatari Auramite Pinions are structured completely differently. I couldn't find an exact explanation of how they work, but since Custodes get the best wargear, I'm assuming here that Pinions run on a Potentia Coil, like an Alatus jump-pack(because Mars keeps the best shinies too).
> 
> The leg-braces are complete headcanon though, since 'boots and trousers' seemed a bit under-equipped. (And also the idea of armoured socks was too ridiculous to not expand on.)


	3. A Study of a Venatari of His Majesty's Legio Custodes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the so-called 'Rebuilding Period' of the decade between the Scattering of The Primarchs and the finding of Primarch Horus, the fine arts were beginning their resurgence with individual commissions, but the Remembrancer Initiative was still a few decades away.  
> However, artwork detailing the daily life of the Imperial Palace during those quiet times does exist. The menials, clerks and contracted laborers would often display what modicum of artistic talent they had within personal journals, the margins of documents or what dedicated sketchbooks they possessed.
> 
> One such person, known only as M.F, somehow captured several of the Legio Custodes within their day-to-day lives, providing unprecedented insight on the Emperor's Legion.
> 
> Below is a piece that has been retrospectively titled 'A Study of a Venatari of His Majesty's Legio Custodes'.


	4. In A Family Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ra has a baby sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost a direct continuation of Chapter 2 of One Mile West, taking place roughly six months afterwards.

“Congratulations!” The Medicae smiled, passing the hot, squawling bundle back to his patient with utmost tenderness. “One perfectly healthy baby girl.”

Eunice, exhausted, sweaty and aching, took her daughter into her arms. Now she was cleaned and swaddled, she could properly admire just how perfect the little one was. Ten tiny fingers with delicate nails clenched into soft fists, a scrunched up nose and fine, feathery hair that was already starting to curl.

Just like his.

Her breathing hitched at the reminder. Six months. Six months since her husband had been slain. This child was all that was left of him, save for the  _ being _ their firstborn had become.

And the wars raged on. More and more flocked to the banner of the Raptor Imperialis, their bodies being changed to better fight against the technology and sorcery of the other warlords. But the Emperor had made no secret of his much grander designs; he wanted the world, then the stars themselves.

This world was no place for a child; yet, service to the Emperor would have to be shield enough.

“What is it, I- oh! M-my Lord!” The Medicae stammered as an unnaturally large figure ducked through the privacy curtain.

“I would like a conversation with the lady in private, if her condition permits it.”

Eunice stiffened, clutching her daughter closer to her breast and hunkering back down into the pillows as far as her soreness allowed. The Medicae saw none of her reaction, flustered as he was under the weight of the Custodes’ attention.

“Of course! Stress, I mean, um, nothing strenuous, topics that is, not very long if you please, we have to be mindful of fatigue...yes, I guess I’ll leave now?”    
He fled, leaving Eunice the sole focus of the giant’s attention.

Well, perhaps not the  _ sole _ focus.

“Mother,” her son-creature greeted her as he removed his helmet. “Little sister.”

“Lord Custodes,” Eunice murmured in reply. “How may I assist you?”

The shadow of a grimace passed over his face. “I wish to meet my blood-sibling. Is that a hardship for you?”

This softly-spoken weapon of destruction is not her son, who was wily and full of fire. Is there any trace of her’s or her husband’s blood left within him, or had that been scoured away?

Yet, she cannot refuse him.

“Her name is Petra.”

Ra Endymion knelt. Softly, slowly. His hand, golden gauntlet encased in buckled leather, reached up and stroked the tiny downy head with a single massive finger.   
“She’s beautiful.” His voice was soft and awed.

(oOo)

“Constantine, isn’t she beautiful? Do you want to hold her?”

Constantine took in at a glance the incredibly  _ tiny _ and extremely  _ fragile _ sleeping infant that Ra was cradling. “Ehm, no thank you.”

“C’mon, she’s been fed and changed so she’s just sleeping. All you have to do is be gentle and support her head.”

“Look Ra, I’m flattered, but no.”

“But isn’t she adorable? Here, hold your hands out, I’ll show you-”

“Ra! No! It’s not happening!”

The two menials repairing some of the wiring for the Level of the hivespire, remained in stunned silence around the access point long after the two Custodes had departed.

One coughed pointedly. “So, uh...I didn’t know that  _ they _ could have children?”

“Huh. I always heard they were, y’know, eunuchs.”

“Oof, ouch. But I heard they were celibate; like, a choice?”

“Maybe. They’re pretty mysterious, after all.”

“Seriously, speaking of ouch, I wonder who the mother is? I mean, look at the  _ size _ of them; y’see what I’m saying?”

“Are you even hearing the words coming out of your mouth right now? You don’t- You can’t  _ say _ stuff like that! How do you even  _ think _ that?”

“Woah, hey, I’m just curious. Really, they terrify me, alright? I feel like my guts just curled up and died when they so much as look in my  _ direction _ . I just want to know  _ what _ they are; they’re not natural, that’s for sure.”

“Want to know what I think?”

“What?”

“That there are  _ things that man was not meant to know _ ! Now pass me those wire strippers and if I hear one more word about this I’ll give you some free dental work with these pliers here.”

(oOo)

  
Many years later...  
  


(oOo)

"Where are you?" Ra bellowed cheerfully to the almost empty hallway. Beside him, a mortal human woman struggled to keep a grin off of her face at the giggling lump in the Custodian's crimson cloak, and the pair of chubby legs sticking out from it.

“Hmmm,” He mused exaggeratedly. “I can hear you, foul xeno. I  _ will _ find you.”

At that, the tiny girl launched herself from underneath his cloak with a squeaky roar and bodily wrapped herself around his shin.   
“Ah, confound it! You’ve used vile witchery to take my leg!” He swooned dramatically. “I am down! Brothers, avenge me!”

“Uncle Raaaaa!” A voice whined petulantly from the vicinity of his kneecap. “You let me win! ‘S’not fair; xenos are supposed to lose!”

He allowed himself an indulgent eye roll that his great-niece couldn’t see. “Well, can’t argue with that,” he muttered.   
“Aha!” He resumed the booming, melodramatic voice. “I may have lost my legs, but you are within arms reach, xeno!” He leaned down and bodily picked up the happily squirming child. “Tell me where the rest of your wretched kind are hiding!”

“Neveeerrrr!” She squealed, waving her toy sword. Only to break into peals of laughter as a giant golden finger gently poked her in the belly.   
“I tear you in half, blood goes everywhere. It’s very dramatic,” Ra stage whispered, and his great-niece commenced death screams that involved a lot of writing and gasping.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today,” his niece, the girl’s mother, spoke up; red in the face from stifled laughter herself. “It’s time for lunch, and Uncle Ra has to work.”

“Okay ma!”

Chuckling softly, Ra lowered her to the floor. “I’ll see you around, then. Give my love to the others, Luetitia.” His niece, youngest child of his sister, smiled up at him.    
“Will do. Mama’s had her upgrades for her legs, so she’ll probably be hunting you down soon.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” he promised. He waved as they faded into the distance.

“You’re quite the thespian, brother,” a quiet voice spoke behind him. “Though it is this...lifestyle...that I cannot understand.”

Ra laughed, stepping back and nudging Jasaac in the shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re missing; besides, someone has to remind us all where we come from. And they’re all so adorable! Here, I have pictures...Jasaac where are you going?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ra is now the Maes Hughes of the Custodes, in my brain at least)


	5. Violence in the Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Custodians get to see the work of the Sigillate Order.

“Did you know this was here?” Ra whispered to Constantine even as Aquillon let out a sound that should not come from a grown man’s mouth.

“No, I...I knew that they saved things but not that it was down  _ here _ . Or this much…”

The Himalayzian mountains where he and Ra had been reborn, before the Thunder Warriors, before establishing the Imperial Palace at the Hive; they were  _ hollow _ .    
And Malcador, the order of the Sigillates, had filled them to the brim with  _ everything _ .

Books, cases tiered from far below the platform they stood upon up to far above. Paintings and sculptures, relics of engineering and technology were packed carefully into cloistered alcoves. Banks and banks of compact data modules of a design sleek and unfamiliar stored and labelled, each in it’s own recessed drawer; media-hololiths hibernated nearby. Fragments of architecture and ancient monuments could just about be picked out in the distance; spires and pillars cresting the haze.

“This is just a fragment of Humanity’s history, I’m afraid,” Malcador said sadly. “Far too much was erased during the Iron Rebellion, though we did what we could. Our dwindling numbers over the millennia meant that a lot of the more in-depth preservation and transcription work has ceased and reverted to locking everything in stasis.    
This is just the Historium Section, by the way, the Biologis Section is the level below. That one hasn’t been opened since we engaged Section-wide chrono-stasis in M27, due to the biodegradable nature of the specimens.”

At the back of the group, a few of the Hekatonkheire made a startled hiccuping noise and leaned heavily on each other.

“I want all of you to see this,” their Lord smiled. “In shifts, of course, for the security of the Palace; you are the first group. It’s not much, but I hope this will answer many of the questions you all have about Pre-Strife Terra.”   
When all of them stood still and obedient, in incomprehensive awe, he frowned bemusedly. “Uh… You can look around, you know. You have twelve hours to look at whatever you like. Go on, shoo.”

Aquillon broke first. With a barely suppressed whoop, he ran off down a gantry and towards a grand staircase.   
The rest followed suit, picking a different direction and running into the various nooks and crannies.

Only Constantine remained.

“You can go as well Constantine; I appreciate the thought, but I can look after myself for a while.”

“Yes yes, just...give it a second.” Constantine waved him off and remained standing idly, arms folded as he looked out over the expanse.

Then their vox-beads crackled into life.

_ ‘Umm...how do we find where we want to go?’ _ Ra’s voice broke through the static storm of near-identical queries flooding in.

Malcador wheezed silently in laughter and even their Lord couldn’t stifle a cackle as he answered. “Find...aha...find the signs for the category you want and then it’s all organized by millennium. You should all be able to cope with the different languages. If you want something specific and don’t know where to start, find an archivist.”

“Now that’s all sorted out, I  _ will _ take my leave,” Constantine smiled, making his way in a more sedate fashion.

(oOo)

“What time-period do you require?” The trembling archivist asked.

Constantine blinked. “I…was under the impression that Terran Natural History did not experience ‘time-periods’. I mean Terra from roughly Ancient Gyptus and onwards, not the Saurian Eras or anything like that, if that’s what you were asking.”   
  


He was trying, but it took conscious effort to look non-threatening to humans and it was harder out of armour. Something about proportions and ‘uncanny valley’. But their Lord had invited them to spend some time out of armour, so they all had thought little of it.   
Nevertheless, the little archivist seemed to have been rendered entirely mute, white-knuckled fingers seemingly fused to the index rostrum.

“Hello, is everything alright down here -oh!”

An older woman, also wearing the robes of an archivist, paused at the end of the aisle. Then walked down it towards them. Upon catching sight of her younger colleague and, ignoring Constantine entirely, clucked her tongue and gently put her arm around the girl and pried stiff fingers loose, all the while murmuring encouraging nothings.

When the girl was snapped out of her transhuman dread and sent scurrying away, the newcomer turned back to Constantine. “Now, what was it you wanted to find?” She met his eyes without so much as flinching; had she been around transhumans enough to become acclimated then?

“Terran Natural History, preferably an overview or introduction, with pict-captures. Ancient Gyptus onwards, if that answers any queries about time periods.”

“Certainly, but by time period...well, Earth went through several phases of pollution, climate change and extinction of species, and recovery from them. And that’s before you get into species-resurrection and the later gene-spliced and genetically-modified organisms.”

“Oh. No, before all of that, back when it was all natural.”

She smiled and nodded. “2nd Millennium then. Will you need a translation?”

“I’m fairly fluent in late-2nd, early 3rd Aenglis, if that helps.”

“Perfect, I have just the thing.” She beckoned him and he followed her to a bank of the data modules by one of the hololiths.    
A pull of a lever rotated the array of drawers downwards, so whatever you needed would be within reach if you held it long enough, and she stopped it after a minute or so. 

“Here.” She held out the module. “Planet Earth by Daevid Aten’bruh, volumes one and two. He was quite an influential chronicler of natural history around the turn of the 2nd-to-3rd Millennia and the filming is lovely. He did other documentaries, but this is him doing overviews of all the different biomes. This is the original narration audio, since you said you knew that version of Aenglis.”

Just what he was looking for. “Thank you. I appreciate the help. Have you been with the Sigillates long?” Has she worked with transhumans before? But even the servants assigned to the Legiones Astartes still flinched at eye-contact.

“It depends!” She laughed. “For a human? Yes; a very long time. For me? Practically no time at all. I’ve been around for a very,  _ very _ long time. My name is Erda.”

(oOo)

“Ah, that’s inconvenient,” Malcador muttered. He turned to see his old friend pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear that I made sure she was off shift.”

“No need,” came a deep sigh. “She would always turn up wherever she wasn’t supposed to be.” He took a deep breath and looked sorrowfully back at Malcador. “How...is she?” The word  _ bad _ went conspicuously unspoken.

“Still not good. She’s not a danger to herself, consciously or otherwise, but in a way, it would be easier if she was.”

“ _ Malcador _ .”

“Because at least then it would be  _ obvious _ that she wasn’t right in the head!” Malcador retorted, waving off the ripple of anger coming from the Emperor. “But everything out of her mouth is reasonable and plausible and never in anger, so you  _ believe _ her. And then she’s bashed someone’s skull in with a 4th Millennium replica of the Rosetta Stone because her delusional paranoia made her think he was planning to rape and murder her assistants.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, he survived; that’s how I could read his mind and know he was innocent. He quit and went back home to his tribe after submitting to a mind-wipe.”

“If she hurts Constantine…’” the air shivered a little at the unworded threat.

“He can look after himself. It’s you I’m concerned for. She still talks about you, adores and despises you in the same breath.”

The Emperor looked down on the distant form of the woman who had once been as hopeful and caring as she had been intelligent and knowledgeable. Some Perpetuals, the psykers in particular, had ways of coping with the burden of eternity, whether those ways came as part and parcel of their cursed gift or had been devised in desperation. She did not. And it had broken her mind over and over to the point where even her soul was a knotted mass of memories and half lies.

“I cannot apologise for what I did. I don’t regret it; I can’t. Even if she forgets why I killed them and thinks me a monster for it.”

He considered for a moment.   
“I should talk to her. And it’s not fair on you and the Sigillates, Mal; I’ll take her. Give her a suite in the Palace, let her wander the labs and archives. Constantine and the Custodes will be able to keep an eye on her safer than mortal humans will. I’ve collected some of the finest scientific minds to work on various things; maybe we can find something that can help her.”

(oOo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the latest Siege of Terra books, I now have to work Erda into my AU.
> 
> As in, I'm making her crazy(kinda supported by canon) and also not the Primarchs' mother(c'mon, let the Emperor have his nonstandard, single-parent, sprawling, genetically-engineered family without having to add a female parent).


	6. Simian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One disturbing monkey.

Arkhan Land was a genius.

Constantine had no qualms admitting that the Magos of Mars outstripped him when it came to intelligence. That Land retained his human facial features also made him easier to interact with; though his ego had much the opposite effect. That he brought tactical vehicle schematics and grav-plate technology with him to Terra was truly a boon.

It was just… the Monkey.

An Artificimian, the Magos called it, named it Sapien. An attempt to recreate the ancient species through mechanical implants, psyber-tech and genetic manipulation, only on the basis of decayed biological samples and descriptions from damaged historical ledgers.

The creature was a  _ travesty _ , with just enough right about it to be wrong.

It’s long, mangy arms ended in spindly, claw-tipped fingers that tik-tik-tikked on every surface and every other movement made the internal augmetic implants press against the inside of the furred torso in distinctly inorganic edges. Ports for gastric tubes along the spine where the withered digestive organs had to be supplied with a nutrient slurry since that was the only thing it could process.   
Swollen venom sacs at the base of the tail which was, as the Magos  _ insisted _ was accurate, not a prehensile limb for travelling through tree canopies, but a lash and puncturing weapon; an extension of the creature’s spine that constantly swayed serpentine back and forth, a bloated barb the size of a man’s finger.

The Custodes all knew what an actual monkey looked like, even if only peripherally, thanks to the pict-captures and information preserved by the Sigillates, and the wrinkled little abomination got their collective backs up.

Made worse by the fact that they weren’t allowed to kill it. Or even maim it a tiny bit. Orders.

Orders that served as a reminder that their Lord had an ironic sense of humour, because they weren’t even allowed to correct Land’s mistaken assumptions about simian biology.    
“The situation amuses me,” their Lord had said. And so the creature’s existence continued.

Constantine contented himself by imagining ways in which the Monkey could  _ accidentally _ meet it’s demise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapien the Artificimian is canon. Unfortunately.
> 
> And half of the Emperor's amusement actually comes from the Custodians' violent, Tom-and-Jerry-esque fantasies about murdering it.


	7. Ascension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Creation of a Custodian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collection of scenes and Contrived Lore about how I think Custodians are created. Mostly just squashing bits of contradictory Canon into a blender.  
> Be prepared for a long rambling end note/outtakes
> 
> Minor warning for low self-esteem and blood drinking.

“Why?”

Tezcatlipoca Artaxerxes folded his arms resolutely, waiting for an answer as both men watched the pods fill up with blue-green liquid. When no answer came, he asked again.   
“Why decentralize the creation of Custodes? Matter of fact, why change the process itself?” 

“How old are you, Tez?”

“Ten Terran Standard years, my Lord,” he replied in bafflement.

“And how old were you when I Ascended you?”

“Two Standard years, my Lord. I don’t see how this-”

“I made you a little too well.”

That shut Tezcatlipoca up, frowning as he pondered the reply. Of course, ten years old  _ was _ young for baselines and a little too young for Astartes Ascension, but what did that have to do with Custodes? The age range for Custodes Ascension was anywhere from six months to seven years, and took about a month for full growth, four if one included training. The fast change was obviously down to the tailor-made process and superior oversight of their Lord; how could something be made  _ too _ well? And shouldn’t that be a good thing, to exceed abilities and parameters?   
“I don’t understand.”

“Those who Ascended older are more personable, mature and empathetic. Constantine, Ra, Amon, Aquillon. Of course, they suffered far more complications during the process, which in itself took longer.   
In exchange, those who Ascended as infants had a much easier time of it, but tend to be vicious-tempered, pragmatic and aloof.”

“I am aware of the trends. I do not deride my elder brothers as defective in some way, but I do know that a younger mind takes more readily to the psycho-conditioning; is that not for the best?”

“Really?” The tone was light, the manner was not. “Psycho-conditioning like how I poured languages, manners, technology, mathematics, sciences, tactics, history and  _ everything that you are _ into your brain? How I clad you in armour and set you on the battlefield before you even reached your third birthday? How I took your innocence from you and made you a blade for war?”

Why is his Emperor ashamed? Why does he regret creating Tezcatlipoca?   
Tezcatlipoca cannot mourn something he does not remember having. (Or not having; that’s how ‘innocence’ works, isn’t it?) Blades are beautiful. That is not something to regret. Besides, the older Custodes were remade the same way, so that same fact applies to them and the Emperor does not regret  _ them _ . Tezcatlipoca does not  _ want _ to be Constantine Valdor, Ra Endymion or anyone else.

“ _ You made me _ too well, then tell me that who I am is wrong?”

“Yes! No!” The Emperor whirled around on him, only to slam dead in his tracks, faltering. “I...Tezcatlipoca, please. What  _ I did _ to you was horrible, barbaric and shameful, not you! I want you to help me do it right for future generations, not belittle you.”

He is not unwanted. It is a relief; had he been despised, he would have killed himself to spare his Lord the irritation of his further existence. He still does not understand in his hearts why his Ascension was...bad...but if his Lord is asking for his assistance… “I will help.”

A warm hand clasps his shoulder. “Thank you.” A hot, molten gaze like the crucibles of his workshop. “What I did to you and others was an evil I could only justify with the urgency of the Unification Wars. But now we have a secure stronghold, a standing force and steady supplies. That evil is no longer necessary, so it must be abolished swiftly and cleanly. Here,” his Lord tapped a cogitator, bringing up an array of hololithic charts. “These are the changes we will be implementing.”

Tezcatlipoca swiftly scanned the information, scanned it again, then glanced at the Emperor in bafflement. “You want to...slow the growth and psycho-conditioning stage, and intersperse it with manual training over a period of ten to fifteen years? That’s a very long time.”

“Long enough for a childhood. Of course, it would not be a typical family unit by any means...but I think growing up with their older gene-brothers would do a lot for stability and cohesion.”

Ah yes. Small brothers. Raising children was definitely not one of the pieces of knowledge he had been gifted during his Ascension. Tezcatlipoca swallowed through a suddenly itching mouth and willed his Betcher’s Gland back into neutrality. He would have to consult with Ra Endymion on how one coped with the overseeing of children; even if Ra only dealt with baselines, there had to be some overlapping applications.   
“I agree. Combining both a young Ascension and social stimulation would result in greater gains and minimal drawbacks. If that is the standard you wish for, then appropriate protocols need to be put in place within the next few days, as three new tributes for Ascension have already arrived.”

* * *

A sharp jingling broke the usual ambience of the Sanctum, accompanied by the peal of a baby’s laugh.

“Who’s a clever little princeling? You? Is it you? Yes it is!” Ra cooed at the happily wiggling child cupped in his hands. 

“Beh!” The babe crowed, waving a chubby fist; a soft bracelet of knitted fibre around his wrist had a trio of small silver bells stitched onto it and they jingled loudly. “Beh! Bebebeb-b-b-b-!” The almost-word devolved into blowing raspberries.

“Bells? Are they your bells? Where are your bells?”

“Bwah!” The child stuffed his hand in his own mouth and flopped onto his back, tiny feet pedalling the air.

“Uh-huh?” Ra smiled indulgently. 

The peace was interrupted by a wail of upset coming down the corridor, a repeating cry of “No! No! No! No!...’”   
Ra turned to the exhausted woman approaching, and the frantically squirming toddler in her arms. 

“Trade you, brother,” Petra sighed. “This little one’s slippery-quick and wants his mum; you’d be better suited to keep an eye on him.” It was fair; his sister had been wrangling the three children while Ra had taken a patrol shift, and his size and strength meant that it was far easier for him to wrestle a tantruming bundle of toddler.

Plucking the screaming child out of Petra’s grip with one hand, he replaced him with the far more easy-going little sweetheart of a baby. Petra immediately relaxed, stress bleeding out of her as he grabbed her fingers and began to gnaw toothlessly on them.   
“Well, aren’t you happy today,” she cooed, before checking her brother.

Ra was holding the boy firmly to his chest, despite the tiny clenched fists beating against him, rubbing soothing circles on his back to quiet the shrill, hiccuping sobs.   
  


“He’ll be fine,” Ra murmured to her. “Just scared and lonely, still. The little terror still asleep, I see?”   
The third child of the batch of tributes was dead to the world, snoring softly despite the racket going on around him.

“He should be, he was up all night,” Petra groaned. “At least it’s time for them to go now, right?”

“Right,” Ra affirmed. Soon; soon these three would be his brothers, but not like before. It would be different, this time.

* * *

They came out screaming.

Washed from their pods in the discharging torrent of psychically-spent immersion fluid, the three newly-reborn Custodes crouched predatory on all fours on the rockcrete floor. Shivering despite the warm temperature of the room, they snarled and screamed in wordless cacophony. The fluids drained away into a grate, the residue of it drying in a thick blueish shine all over their bodies. Not helped by the fact that their hair had grown long during the incubation period and was now stuck to their skin like a hooded carapace, limiting the movement of their neck and shoulders.

Trembling, seemingly witless, they stumbled into each other in their consternation. Immediately they lashed out, blindly clawing long, untrimmed nails, slashing at each other and only increasing in ferocity as their own stinging welts and grazes were received.

Ra could stand it no longer.

Storming out of the observation room and slamming the gene-locked door open, he ignored Tezcatlipoca’s protests. The new Custodes were only the size of ten-or-twelve-year-old children. Easy enough to get in between them and scruff them, hold them apart and still.   
They moved with the grace inherent of their transhuman form though, twisting themselves around his limbs. Were they trying to drag him to the ground? Well, it wouldn’t work. Their screams had died to mere shrieking hisses, at least.

Then, the one he had pinned to his chest shuddered and pressed into him with palms spread flat against his skin. Then relaxed.

The others were ceasing their struggles as well, instead clinging to Ra with little humming sounds.

“Tezcatlipoca? What...do they want?” Ra loosened his restrictive hold on them, yet they stayed still and calm.

The response crackled over a small vox-grill in the corner..

“ _ The fast-drying residue has stopped up their ears, eyes and noses; their only senses right now are touch and taste. Aggressive behaviour upon being subjected to an unfamiliar environment while disabled is not unexpected.  _ _   
_ _ As for you...they’re seeking out your body heat and pulse points. They can feel the vibrations of your heartsbeat. You are the first person to hold them after a year in the tank. _ ”

The enormity sank down upon Ra. “Oh. Well, we should make this standard procedure for future batches then? Have one or two unarmoured Custodians on hand to calm them down when they emerge.”

“ _ Duly noted and logged. _ ”

“The residue can be washed off, right?” Ra asked, gathering the other two reborns to his chest and sitting down crosslegged on the floor so he could situate them all in his lap. There was some fussing and snarling as they bumped into their brethren, but Ra started humming soothingly and they quickly melted back into his embrace.   
Yes, Ra could see what Tezcatlipoca meant now. Their faces were thickly plastered with dried blue smears and rivulets. Eyes were gummed shut with the resinous substance and ears were too, if they were even visible from under the stiff mats of hair.

“ _ I have a bath of warm saline solution prepared in the next room, specifically for the faces and hair, as the rest can be peeled off without causing damage. The bath is large enough for all three to enter fully though, just in case. This is the first case of using a fluid solution for Ascension, so I prepared accordingly. _ ”

“Good. So, shall I take them through?”

“ _ No. There is one more step. I shall be with you momentarily. _ ”

Indeed, moments later Tezcatlipoca stepped through the door carrying…

“Is that the blood you were stalking Constantine for the other day? We were wondering what you were doing with it; what’s it for?”

“Only one bag contains the Captain-General’s blood. The other two are from Amon Tauromachian and Rassen. The blood itself is their first meal,” Tezcatlipoca pointed to the dozing children.

Ra raised an eyebrow, before the realisation hit. “The first thing their omophagea processes?”

“A form of organic imprinting, yes, in hopes of cutting down on psycho-conditioning later on and hastening their comprehension skills. There is a possibility that it may not work, though.”

“Everything’s new now,” Ra replied softly, idly stroking the head of one of the reborns. “Why not use your own blood? You are the Hekatonkheire; you have more knowledge than any of us.”

“Artificial, implanted knowledge,” Tezcatlipoca said bitterly. “I am the reason that the Ascension process is being altered in the first place. My blood would not be...appropriate.”

“No; our Lord is the reason that the process is changing. And knowledge is knowledge. Besides, Rassen was created young like you, and that’s his blood in one of those bags.”

Tezcatlipoca glanced away, inscrutable beneath his helmet, but with an air of shyness about him. “I need a full sample size on how the donor material will affect behaviour! The Captain-General, Amon and Rassen were all created in different ways and these new Custodes will be imprinted with different mindsets as well as their loyalties. And I am...biased, as you said. Future Ascension procedures will rely heavily on the results of this one and it is vital that I remain professional.”

Ra nodded. “Alright. Pass me a blood bag. Does it matter which one they get?”

“No. At least, it shouldn’t.”

“Right.” Undoing the stopper of the bag with Constantine’s blood in, Ra nudged one of the reborns awake; the dark-skinned little Yndonesic prince who had come to them with silver bells on his wrist. Ra put the opening to the boy’s mouth, letting a drop wet his lips. Flicking out his tongue to taste, the new Custodes froze for a second. Then snapped out and bit down on the rubber neck of the bag, snatching it out of Ra’s hand and chugging the contents like a starving… Well, all of them were probably starving, after a year on nothing but nutrient drips.   
Ra quickly repeated the process with the other two, turning back to find the first methodically ripping the bag to pieces, even blinded as he was, and licking out the inside. He yawned red, crimson tongue licking stained teeth like a satisfied cat and ignoring the smears drying on his chin and nose.

His other batchmates were in a similar state, red-jawed and licking errant drops from their fingers.

“Leaving the bath until after feeding was a sensible decision,” Ra mused.

“Duly noted and logged.”

* * *

“I am so sorry milord,” the Thunder Warrior grovelled, not letting up on the headlock he had his offending subordinate in, who’s cursing had been exchanged for protesting mumbles(in no small part due to the hand of his comrade clamped over his mouth).   
“If we’d known he would pick it up-”

“It’s  _ fine _ ,” Ra bit out.

“Jus’ peachy,” the Eyas, the young Custodian, piped up beside him. His voice had gained the same Albionese gutter-slur, along with some _colourful_ _words_ , that this lot of Thunder Warriors had.

“Lugus  _ was _ being a shite-fer-brains fookin’ scrowder. Fookin’ tossbag.”

Ra sighed.

* * *

“Rise, and proclaim yourself.”

Slamming the butt of his Guardian Spear against the tiles, the newly-anointed Custodian rose to his feet, the red plume that crowned his helm swaying proudly and Misericordia sheathed on his hip.

“I am Felinus Pantaleon. Everything that I am is for you, given freely. I answer only to your judgement. My loyalty is to none other save you. None shall stand in my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is Kitten, if the swearing and the name didn't give it away.  
> I know a lot of fanon has Kitten's name as 'Kittonius', but 'Kitten' is supposed to be a cutesy/derogatory nickname not a diminutive. I still wanted to keep the cat theme though. Felinus means 'Feline' and Pantaleon means 'Lion over All'. And both 'Felinus' and 'Pantaleon' are minor saints, as per the lore of Custodes taking names from Ancient Terran Mythology/Religion.
> 
> I'm using the term 'Eyas' to refer to a juvenile Custodian. IRL it's a falconry term for a nestling bird of prey; it fits with the Custodes eagle motif. 
> 
> As featured in the chapter, there are three ways to create Custodes, with slightly different results.  
> 1) Use an older child(3-7yrs). Far more medical complications during the process, but the Custodian will be far more emotionally stable.  
> 2) Use a younger child(6 months-2yrs). Easier process, but the Custodian will be emotionally stunted.
> 
> Both methods used during the first stage of the Unification Wars, due to a paucity of resources.
> 
> 3) A younger child goes through the first stages of the process while suspended in a tank, instead of on an operating table. The 'Eyas' is fed donated Custodes blood to install a sense of loyalty, and some memories. They are socialized, trained and educated as they mature, before being officially inducted into the Legio Custodes.
> 
> Another Headcanon: Their hair grows long while in the tank and is cut short when they are decanted. The offcut length is dyed red and chemically treated. It will be the plume of their helmet when they are finally sworn in.


End file.
